“The corruption is spreading faster than the Keystones can stabilize him,” growled Kaelen, the Order of the Scales’ artificer, as he wrestled with the third Celestial Keystone. It hummed violently, refusing to lock into its floating runic anchor.

But the Gorge itself was dying. The Serpent’s Maw—the living throat they stood upon—began to close. Stone platforms liquefied. Soldiers fell into acidic darkness.

From the eastern fissure, six shard-wyrms slithered forth, their tails scraping glyphs of decay into the stone. Elara’s archers loosed volleys of void-tipped arrows, but the creatures’ hides refracted light, turning each arrow into a prismatic ghost.

Behind her, Valdris roared—not in pain, but in defiance . He spread his broken wings and flew into the closing throat of the Serpent’s Maw, wedging himself between its fleshy walls. The Gorge convulsed. The portal flickered.